


A New Day

by ARadioHostNamedPidgeon



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Asexual Sherlock Holmes, Bisexual John Watson, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I just finished the show, Johnlock - Freeform, Light Angst, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Spoilers, after s4, i love these idiots, if i can make myself wait
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23077030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ARadioHostNamedPidgeon/pseuds/ARadioHostNamedPidgeon
Summary: In which Sherlock and John collect themselves after "The Final Problem" and sort out their lives. Slow burn (ish), if I can make myself wait. I'll probably add to this description.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 16
Kudos: 61





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Did I finish the show today? Yes. Am I already writing for it? Also yes.

**John**

John has never been more thankful for a rather inattentive cab driver. He and Sherlock sit in the back, silence heavy with the weight of the day they’d just had. Glancing over, John could have sworn he saw Sherlock’s eyes darting away from him, back to stare out the window. The car turns the corner and the duo are greeted by the familiar sight of Baker Street, albeit slightly marred by the explosion centred around 221b. A lump swells in John’s throat, full of a complicated jumble of emotions. Sherlock finally looks over with the tiniest of smiles.  
“Mrs Hudson is going to kill us.”

Mrs Hudson, unsurprisingly, is enraged.  
“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA THE FEAR YOU TWO HAVE CAUSED ME? BLOWING UP THE FLAT, YOU NEARLY GAVE ME A HEART ATTACK! NOW, I BELIEVE YOU OWE ME AN EXPLANATION, OR SO HELP YOU.”  
Sherlock and John exchange a quick glance, before beginning to speak over each other at the same time.

“Well, we were testing something on Mycroft-”  
“A secret sister-”  
“And we tell him-”  
“that we’re treating this like a case-”  
“And that he’s to sit-”

She abruptly interrupts, “Get to the point! Why the explosion?”

Sherlock takes the weight of the explanation, “I have a sister. She’s been locked away, and I couldn’t remember her- until today, that is. Mycroft, John, and I were discussing, and just as the topic of her escape was brought up, a drone arrived. Loaded with an explosive, of course, motion-activated. We waited till we heard you putting away the vacuum when you’d be safest, and-” he gestures to simulate the explosion. “Boom. We had three seconds to get out.”

“Well!” horrified, she scoffs, but can’t resist hugging them both close. “I don’t know what to say other than you two would be grounded if I was your mother!”  
“We’re full-grown adults, Mrs Hudson!” John’s protest is weak, face shoved up against Sherlock’s coat.  
“In all fairness, John, how often do we act it?” Sherlock extricates himself from her squeezing embrace. With a snort of laughter, John does the same. Mrs Hudson looks back and forth between them, shaking her head.  
“Are you two all made up, then?”  
Another loaded glance passes between John and Sherlock, questions being asked of one another and answered all in the span of a second.

“Nothing will ever be what it was, but..” John sighs, but can’t resist the smile that spreads across his face, “Yeah. Things are going to work out.”  
“Good, I could hardly bear you two fighting.” With that, she turns on her heel and walks away. They stand in the street for a moment amidst the rubble of the front wall of 221b. Sherlock bends down to pick up the knife that served to pin papers to their mantle place.  
“John?”  
“Yeah?”  
“Seriously, are you and Rosie staying in the suburbs or should we remodel a spare room for her?”  
“Is that an invitation?” He’s answered with a cheeky grin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which calls are made and John gets Rosie settled into 221b.

**Sherlock**   


The two stand in front of the familiar door, and Sherlock automatically reaches out to turn the knocker to the right before opening the door. The bottom floor has remained surprisingly structurally sound, to their relief. Mrs Hudson hurries past them to her flat, still mumbling something. In sync, the two remove their coats and hang them up, Sherlock deftly unwinding his scarf. John hurries up the stairs first, and Sherlock hears his sigh at the destruction. Following, he steps into the mess of their sitting room.

Sharp eyes scanning the damage, Sherlock is startled back to reality by John tapping on his shoulder, holding a broom.

“Sherlock? Sherlock, hey, who are we calling to put in new windows?”  
“I know someone, owes me a favour.”  
John rolls his eyes, “what was it, cleared them for murder? They’re actually an undercover agent who got you out of a tight situation?”  
“No, cult.”  
“What?”

“You heard me.” he’s already on the phone. John quietly laughs, walking off somewhere. Sherlock calls in his favour, giving sharp instructions to be there as soon as possible. Another call to someone else, and he has them sending over someone to rebuild their wall. A final call for the wallpaper and he’s finished. Well, until Mycroft calls.  
“Hello, brother dear.”  
“Mycroft. What is it?”  
“Eurus is officially contained, and I wanted to check on 221b.”  
“Why? That seems... unlike you.”  
“Can’t a brother show his love?”  
Sherlock sighs out, “you don’t tend to.”  
“Also, our parents want to have us over again for some unfathomable reason.”  
“Did you call me just to gripe about our parents?”  
“No, I told you about Eurus, didn’t I?”  
“I’d be eternally grateful if you actually cut to the chase for once. Of course, you were going to contain Eurus, why wouldn’t you?”

“So, parents?”  
“Why are you asking me? If I don’t show up, you know they’d come and drag me by my hair.”  
Mycroft dryly laughs over the line. “Right again, little brother. I’ll text you details.” With a click, he hangs up.  
  
“What was that about, Sherlock?” John’s leaning against the archway into the kitchen.  
“Mycroft. Called to inform me that Eurus is contained and that our parents are practically demanding us to visit them.”

“Does ‘us’ include me?”  
“Don’t be daft, of course, it does.”

At this, John smiles and returns to tidying up in the kitchen, placing things back into the familiar chaos where they were before. Sherlock is distracted for a moment watching him, before the doorbell rings and he hurries downstairs to answer it.

_ ~Late that night~ _

**John**

Rosie smiles up at John from his arms, babbling happily as they enter the cab. Rosie’s things had been easily packed, and John already had half of his belongings at 221b. As they pull out of the driveway, a heavy sigh escapes John, memories of Mary bringing a wave of jumbled emotions. He’s glad to leave it behind, to leave that chaotic chapter in the pristine suburbs. Rosie attempts to grab her rattle from where it had been left on the seat, and nearly falls out of John’s arms when she catches hold of it. A few moments of calm, and then Rosie’s made her escape, clambering all over the backseat.  
“Hey, stop that!” Her joyful giggling fills the car, and the driver smiles back at them. By the time John manages to get Rosie settled down, they’re nearly at Baker Street.  
“Ready to see Sherlock?” John asks, pulling suitcases and boxes from the cab. She happily burbles at the familiar name, trying to climb onto John’s head from where he has her held close to his chest. The door swings open, and Mrs Hudson hurries out.

“John! Oh, and hello, sweet little Rosie! Let me give you a hand with all of that.”  
“No need to, Mrs Hudson, really-” she’s already got two cases halfway to the door.  
“Thank you.” he brings in the rest in a few trips as Rosie makes a wholehearted yet fruitless attempt at climbing the stairs.  
“Let’s get you to bed, honey. We can play in the morning, okay?”

_ ~Even later that night~ _

**Sherlock**

John flops into the chair across from where Sherlock is sprawled across his, playing with his Rubik’s cube.

“She’s all settled in for the night. I put her in the smaller room since there was less stuff to clear out and it’s next to mine.  
“Mm.”

“I’m going to head to bed, don’t blow up anything till I’m awake.”

“Mm.”

“Are you listening?”

“Mm.”

John rolls his eyes, “Good night, Sherlock.” He walks off, but just as he’s almost out of sight, Sherlock responds with “good night”, before returning to the Rubik’s cube. He misses John’s surprised, yet pleased smile.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which newspapers are fetched and emotions suppressed.

**John**

When John wakes up the next morning, it’s pouring rain. He groans, half-sitting up as he reaches for his phone to shut off the alarm. Downstairs he can hear footsteps, and a quick listen tells him Sherlock is pacing around the living room. He’s thinking about something, and it’s getting to him. With a sigh, John stands up and wanders downstairs, checking on Rosie on the way. She’s fast asleep, sprawled across her bed, stuffed animals in a nest around her. As expected, Sherlock is lost in thought, pacing around the disaster of their damaged sitting room.

“You’re up early.” John remarks, leaning against the doorway. Sherlock startles to attention.

“John!” He begins to dart about the room, scooping up books and closing John’s laptop.

“What are you doing?”

“Cleaning.” The books practically fly out of his hands onto the shelf. With another sigh, John sits heavily in his chair, reaching for the newspaper next to him- wait? John’s eyes narrow in confusion. He hadn’t brought it in, but it’s today’s.

“Sherlock?”

“Hm?”

“Who brought in the newspaper and left it for me?”

Sherlock almost looks panicked for a second, but he turns away before John can really process it. “Mrs. Hudson.”

“Oh, finally given up on ‘not your housekeeper’?”

“Never!” She enters with perfect timing. “And Sherlock, why not tell John that you-”

Sherlock shoots her an absolute death glare from over his stack of books. She laughs, but hurries into the kitchen, mumbling about tea. John looks back and forth, huffing with frustration.

“Sherlock, are you hiding something from me?”

“No.”

“And I should believe that because…?”  
“You have no reason to.”

“Well, you’re hiding something.”

“Aren’t I always?” he sits down opposite John, a smirk on his face. John can’t help but match it.

“What is it this time? No, let me guess- you got some ridiculous case on a remote island and Mycroft’s picking us both up in three minutes, and you haven’t told me.”

“No, though I’ll mention it to him and Lestrade. You never know what remote island is in need of a consulting detective and assistant.”

John curses under his breath. “Right, you do that.”

“Aren’t you going to guess?”

“Are you  _ trying  _ to get me to refuse to come on your next case?”

With a look of mortal offense, Sherlock gasps and falls back farther in his chair. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

“What if it was really good- a 9? 9.5? 10?”

“Mhm.”

“Joooooooohn.”

“Mhm.”

“You’re ignoring meeeeeeee.”

“Mhm.”

Mrs. Hudson chooses that moment to re-enter, carrying tea and breakfast. “Be nice, now.”

Sherlock and John both look at her in surprise, having half-forgotten she was there.

“Oh, are you two  _ that _ lost in each other that you forgot I was here?”

“What?-” “We’re not-” “Mrs. Huds-” “That’s not-” “I’m  _ not gay _ !”

Sherlock almost imperceptibly droops, and John looks over at him, confusion, worry, and... something else. “Sherlock, I-”

“What? John, you what?”

“I…” He quickly makes up his mind mid-sentence. “I need to go out today. Call me if you need anything or get a case.”

“Why?” his face is masked to a stare, but John can practically see his mind racing into action.

“Because I wouldn’t miss a case with you for the world.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am back!! I have neglected this for so long, and I'm very sorry. I hope you enjoy!

John, again  
He grabs his coat and bag and practically falls out the door, leaning against the wall where he knows he’s out of sight from the window. A few seconds pass before a passerby laughs and asks “Fight with your girl?”  
John snorts, “That’d be simpler.”  
They shrug. “Good luck, mate.” and continue down the street. A moment of deliberation and John hails a cab.  
“Bart’s, please.” As he climbs in, the curtains of 221b twitch, a pale face peeking out from around the corner of them. John isn’t looking, instead firing off a text to one Mike Stamford.  
‘Mike, I need to talk to you.’  
As the cab approaches Bart’s, John rests his head against the window. They pass the fateful spot where Sherlock had faked his death, and he winces. The cabbie looks back for a second, concerned.  
“Everything all right?”  
“Yeah, yeah, just- long story.”  
“Fair.”  
They pull to a stop, and John hops out, casting a solemn gaze at the pavement. He thanks the cabbie before turning on his heel to hurry inside.

Mike sits in his office, filing papers. A sharp knock on the door signals John’s arrival.  
“Come in?”   
John does, waving vaguely in his direction. Mike raises an eyebrow, question on his lips.  
“Hello, John. What-”  
“It’s Sherlock.”  
With a chuckle, Mike stands up. “Of course it is. Has he done something?”   
John looks at him, eyebrows wrinkled with exasperation. “He’s- well, what hasn’t he done? Mike, Rosie and I are going to be living in 221B again, he’s hiding something, he’s-” a hand waved past his face in frustration, he sighs. “God, Mike, why is he so…”  
“So what?”  
“I don’t know.” he rubs his eyes, “I think he brought in my newspaper this morning.”  
“And?”  
“He doesn’t do that, Mike. Why would he have brought it in?”  
Mike squints at him, tilting his head. “John, he cares about you. You care about him. Maybe he’s trying to let you know that he cares. I don’t know him like you do, you or Molly or Lestrade.”  
He swallows and nods, “Thanks, mate- is Molly in?”  
“No, she’s taking the day off. Something shook her yesterday, I think.”  
John winces, yesterday heavy on his mind. “Yeah… God, she must be feeling like shit.”  
With a look of confusion, Mike nods. “You should do that.”  
“Okay... okay.” Composing himself, John clears his throat, nodding his goodbye and leaving.

Barts still hurts. As he hurries through the halls, he can’t help but remember the pain he’s felt here before. Standing in the lift, a woman looks over to John.   
“Bad memories?”  
“And good ones. The bad, though- they weigh heavy.”  
“I get that.” she sighs. “Good luck with whatever you’re here for.”  
“You too.” he hurries out, tension sitting sharply in his shoulders.  
Another cab ride and he’s outside Molly’s apartment. He hops out and rings the bell, fiddling with his collar. A few beats later and she answers the door, eyes puffy.  
“John?” her voice is shaky, but determined to stay together.  
“Hi.”  
“Were you there?”  
“What? Oh, when the call..” she cuts him off with a nod. “Yeah. I was there.” Her breath catches as she looks away. “Come in.”  
John does, sitting on one of her chairs. She sits opposite him, silent.  
“Molly, I-” he sighs once more, searching for words. “Yesterday, um… God, don’t know if that’ll make it better or worse.”  
“What? How?”  
“Your life was threatened and he was forced to do what he did.”  
She looks at him, incredulous. “What the hell did you get yourselves into?”  
He barks out a laugh, shaking his head. “Not sure if I can safely tell you, Mycroft might descend and stop me in my tracks.” His phone pings and John rolls his eyes, exasperated. “And there he is.”  
His text reads, ‘Tell her what you must. Restrict details.’  
“Am I permitted to hear why?” her usually gentle voice is snippy, hurt raw and evident. John looks back at her, apology in his eyes.  
“Essentially, Sherlock has a sister, she forced us to play these sick… games, one of which was where we deduced who a coffin was meant for- you. It had “I love you” written on the top. He then had to call you and get you to say that you loved him or you’d be killed.”  
Her eyes wide and hands shaking, she stares at him. “O-oh…”  
“I’m sorry, Molly, I really am.”  
“Describe the coffin?”  
“What- why?”  
“Just… describe it, please. I need to know something.”  
“Right, um… loves Sherlock, short, practical about death, distant from close relatives...”  
Molly gulps, tears welling up, “John- are- I don’t- are you sure?”  
Confused, John stands up to leave, “Why wouldn’t we be?”  
Tearful, she shakes her head. “I’m not the only one that fits that description.”


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock  
Sherlock falls onto his chair, flipping upside down. “Mrs Hudson?”  
“Yes, dear? Oh, you’re worried about him!” she hurries over, face knitted in concern. He doesn’t deign to answer right away, huffing with frustration.  
“He’s off to visit someone; he’ll be out for ageees.”  
She shakes her head, chuckling. “Text him! Sherlock, dear, you care so much, you need to let him know.”  
“No point. He doesn’t want me.”  
Mrs Hudson scoffs, “Of course he does! And you- oh, you love him so dearly.”  
“No, I don’t.” Sherlock looks over, eyes bright and intense. “Mrs Hudson, I am a-”  
“High-functioning sociopath, yes, dear, you’ve mentioned. Sherlock, honey, we don’t think you are.”  
Sherlock squints, lips pursed. “You said we. Why?”  
“Well, Mycroft thinks you’ve been hiding behind a label- I think his words were “a wildly inaccurate diagnosis based off of bias and lack of education from a frankly idiotic practitioner.”  
“You remembered his exact quote.”  
“Well, of course I do! It was important.” she looks appalled. “Sherlock, dear, it won’t do you well to forget that you’re human. Brilliant, of course, but a human all the same.”  
He flips over, face mushed into the chair. She chuckles and shakes her head. “Always dramatic, that’s our Sherlock.”  
“Mrs Hudson?”  
“Yes, dear?” she pauses, about to leave.  
He rolls over the chair, landing upright. “If you see John coming back, warn me. I need to do some research.”  
Tutting, she shakes her head. “Sherlock, what are you up to now?”  
“Nothing.” His voice is terse as he walks over the table to his messy stack of books.  
“No wonder John is suspicious!” she exits the room, shaking her head once more.  
Sherlock snorts with disdain as he begins to pace again, scooping up several books as he passes by. The rain pours outside, city lights soft as they float through the curtains. Lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t notice when Mrs Hudson wakes Rosie and brings her downstairs for breakfast. Rosie, however, burbles happily at Sherlock, trying to crawl out of Mrs Hudson’s arms to reach him.  
“Sherlock, dear, Rosie wants a hug.”  
“Hm?”  
“Rosie, Sherlock. She wants a hug.”  
“Oh! Yes, yes.” Over the coffee table and across the room, he makes his way to her. Sherlock carefully takes Rosie in his arms, still secretly scared of how delicate she seems and how he might hurt her. “Good morning, Watson.”  
Mrs Hudson beams at them both. “Have you eaten yet today, Sherlock?”  
“I’m busy.”  
“Let me rephrase that- do you want eggs or cereal for breakfast?”  
Sherlock glares at her over the top of Rosie’s head. “...eggs.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I like the idea of this but I don't think I executed it very well. Sorry!

John  
John stares at Molly, half out the door. “Who else? Who else, Molly-”  
She shakes her head. “John…”  
“Who else loves him, Molly? Who else fits that description?”  
“John.” she stares right at him. “Go home to him.”  
He swallows and looks away, “Okay.” The rain refuses to let up as he hails a cab, coat pulled tight around him. Eventually, one stops for him and John climbs inside, muttering his destination. London glitters in the morning light filtering through the storm, and John sighs as they make their way home.  
“Home.” he thinks to himself, “I already think of it as home. So soon, as well.” Laughing to himself, he shakes his head, falling silent when the faintest hint of realization pokes at the corner of his mind. Shaking it off as they pull up to 221B, he pays and hops out of the cab into the rain. He digs out the key from his pocket, shouldering open the door. He heats thumping upstairs and the sounds of Rosie happily babbling away. A smile grows on his face as he hangs up his coat, climbing the stairs to their living room.  
Pushing open the door, he finds Mrs Hudson, Sherlock, and Rosie sitting around the table. Rosie sees him and her face lights up.   
“DADA!”  
“Good morning, Rosie!” John hurries over to kiss her forehead. Mrs Hudson beams, pushing a plate to the empty seat.  
“Do sit, dear! We saved breakfast for you.”  
“Thanks, Mrs Hudson.” Sherlock is focused on his eggs, sculpting them into what appears to be a body. Looking up at John, he grins and squirts ketchup around it with a glint in his eyes.  
“Sherlock... did you just turn your breakfast into a murder scene?”  
“Deduce it, John.”  
“You want me to deduce your breakfast.”  
Sherlock pushes the plate over, and John sighs, rolling his eyes. “Fine. Ok, blood patterns signify stab wound, also the fact that you’ve drenched the chest area in ketchup, I’m saying stabbed in the chest, the imprints in your potatoes signify footsteps?” Sherlock nods. “Right, murderer hurried away, not bothering to clean up after themselves. Based on the sloppy nature of the crime scene… breakfast… it was probably done in the heat of the moment- a crime of passion, as it was. Happy?” He hands the plate back. Sherlock looks satisfied.  
“Why did you make me do that?”  
Sherlock thinks for a second. “Why not?”  
John stares at him from across the table. “You are…”  
“Brilliant?”  
“Sometimes a pain in the ass.”  
Sherlock pouts, “Jooooohn.”  
“What.”  
He thinks for a second, before returning to his eggs. John rolls his eyes once more, sighing, and Rosie burbles, reaching for her sippy cup. Leaning over to help her, John kisses the wispy hairs atop her head, smile light on his face. Sherlock beams at them both, but quickly turns back to his breakfast when John looks back.


End file.
